After the Ashes
by CLimPhan4279
Summary: Somewhat of an R/C Phanfic, if you must know. Features our beloved Love Triangle, as told through different viewpoints Please, Read/Review! Merci.
1. Returning Home: Raoul

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter I:_**Returning Home **__Raoul's Point of View_

A/N: This is basically an R/C PhanPhic based on the movie and the book combined, basically whatever parts I liked best from each. It does have the same characters and their personalities as they appear in the movie. So, hopefully, you enjoy... (Oh, and **NO** Raoul-bashing, Okay???)

I heard myself sighing yet another sigh. Christine smiled gently at me. I wondered if she felt the same way I did; that longing to be home, but the sad reality that summer, and our beautiful, beloved house by the sea was yet again over. I was, though, quite excited to be back in Paris, the place which I had loved, since I had seen it when I was young. I was quite fascinated with the garnier architecture, and the romantic phantasmal aura that buzzed in the Parisian streets. But this, of course wasn't what convinced me to come home early, at Christine's childing and big brown eyed stares.

I smiled to myself. I had spoken to the manager, Monsieur, du Bourg, the gentleman who had boughten the Populaire from M. Andre, and Firmin, for quite a sum. I felt a small grin work at my features. The small man seemed nothing like the previous owners. Quite practical, and very artistic, saying he had studied music for quite a time. As for the Phantom stories, he refused to believe a one; saying that they were mere coincidental tricks, and that, "Artists, you never know, Monsieur. Some can be quite a bit eccentric." I had swallowed back a snort. If the man only knew. Hopefully he wouldn't have to find out how wrong he was.

My mind pondered over this, until I glanced absentmindedly out the window as we were passing the Populaire, the connection to my recent train of thought. But now, my attention was now directed at Christine. She had that look in her eyes, and I knew. She was thinking-- dwelling on "him".-Erik, the Phantom. He was the very man that I hated, and just the thought made my blood boil with anger for all that he had put both Christine and I through. But in spite of all of that, I knew Christine still felt a compassion for the man. But that's the way she was, Little Lotte, she was sweet, young and innocent; and she always had a fascination for her angel of music. My mind reminisced to that day that Mouisuer Daae had told us that story, of Little Lotte and her angel.

Now my head was spinning, and I was remembering all that had happened to her and I in the past year. It had been an unthinkable time. Christine and I had gotten engaged filling my world with bliss. But Erik had other plans- plans that had shattered Lotte's fragile heart in two, and seeing that, nearly crushed my own. My thoughts were brought to a halt, along with the carriage. I soon found Christine's lovely eyes looking upon me. "Raoul", she said nearly laughing, "Come; have you forgotten what we have come home for?" Christine was right, I had forgotten. But then, I thought with a smirk, she usually was. She and I walked toward the doorstep, Christine still grinning, probably over my recent memory lapse. She adjusted the small ring on her finger, making it sparkle in the late afternoon sun. And seeing her sweet smile and loving brown eyes, I couldn't help beaming in return.


	2. Musings: Christine

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter II:_**Musings **__Christine's Point of View_

We were headed home from the house by the sea; that beautiful place that holds so many precious memories, so many songs. The carriage lurched along, and I breathed in the sights of Paris- of home. I glanced over at Raoul, who wasn't too talkative. But he's always been that way, when summer comes to an end. He loves the sea and the memories of childhood we reflect and treasure at that beloved place. When I am there, I can almost hear my father's voice, it's soft sweet harmony, mingling with a childish version of my own. I can see Raoul's laughing blue eyes, filled with an innocence only a seven-year-old mischievous boy could posses. My thoughts then turned to the day that I feared I would never see those sparkling eyes. Raoul's family was leaving as another summer passed. And me; I was going away for forever. My angel, my father, was gone. I went to the populaire, dreaming of him, the angel my father had promised to send to his Little Lotte, each dark night was filled with loneliness, and that strange music. The music I later learned to call, the music of the night. I still shudder at the thought.

Then, Raoul returned. Raoul has always been my hero. Ever since he rescued my red birthday scarf, I have thought of him that way. He's solid, and strong, and his eyes, when you look in to them, a passion, deep as the sparking ocean blue color that fills them. I smiled. But as I glanced out the window, my thoughts began to drift. We were passing the populaire, bringing only one thing to my mind- Erik- I thought he was my angel, the one true link I had to my father. What had become of him? No one has heard of him since that fateful night- the fire, the passion, and the fury. But Erik. In my heart, I had to believe he was safe. His soul the very distortion of his face, but his music, all that's both beauty, mystery, and wonder. His music seemed to open every door in to the darkest depth of my soul. A place I longed to return to, but dreaded the very thought.

I turned to see Raoul's eyes, gazing up at mine. I smiled at him. Seeing the populaire also reminded me of something that made my very soul begin to sing. The Opera was reopening. And with Raoul as the patron, I knew he must be looking forward to it as well. Monsieur Du Bourg, who had met with Raoul a time or two, promised to contact us soon. That was what made me long for Paris more than anything- to sing again. To feel the pulse of every instrument beneath the stage. The night air in my lungs being released in to song. The magic of it all made me nearly start running toward the house when the carriage began to slow. "Raoul", I heard myself saying breathlessly, "Come inside, have you forgotten what we have come home for?" I knew he had forgotten. But I was simply too happy to be home, to care. Raoul took my hand and we walked toward the door, me fighting every urge to run. The letter from the Opera's new manager had come, and I could hardly wait to visit the opera, which has been my sanctuary for years, a magical world where everything seems theatrical- a wonder you simply had to experience to know what it was.

But as I bent to collect the rest of the mail, a small envelope fluttered to the ground. It's markings bore that fateful seal- the one that I had tried too hard to forget.


	3. In Erik's Lair: Narrator

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter III:_**In Erik's Lair**__ Narrator_

Erik sat down at the piano, running his fingers over the smooth black finish and cool ivory touch. Music. It was so wonderful, so indescribable, unfathomable. It seemed to be the only thing that could calm his soul most days, but today,_ Point of No Return_ ran through every vein in his body like magma bursting up toward the surface. He tried to finish the melody, but the magmatic anger erupted in one long phrase; "You will curse the day you did not do, all that the Phantom asked of you..." And she would, along with her lover, the Vicomte de Changy. His plan would unfurl, and Christine would succumb to his music, The Music of the Night. She had yet to face her fate. Using her voice, the gift _he _had given her, she would pass the final threshold in to harmony with him. For Christine Daae was the key to saving him from the unending darkness of solitude. The vicomte, on the other hand, no doubt he should try to save her. Erik sighed. But for Erik it seemed just a small task. He would do anything for _her_, anything to make his music.

Then Erik heard footsteps just coming down the passageway. Fingering the rope he always kept close by, he waited for his intruder. He resisted the urge to just Punjab them now. But it was Mme. Giry, along with Meg. He heard a small chuckle. "Having that much trouble with your composition, are you Erik?", said the familiar heavily accented voice. He dropped the rope and sighed. He wasn't in any mood for Antoinette's jokes. The old ballet mistress was as tough and rigid as ever, and much as Erik hated to admit it, she could see right through him. Through the mask, through to his soul. "I see you've made yourself at home, not too much damage? Your home is to your liking?" Erik uttered a low growl, startling Meg, who screamed. Erik chuckled at her fright. Madame Giry thumped her large black cane on the cold floor, stopping all of the hysterics, the echo resounding, in the newly acclaimed silence. "Erik," she finally spoke, " the opera populaire is opening in two weeks. Auditions will be held then, and you are to behave." "I am not a child", Erik said indignantly. "No", Madame Giry sighed, "but you are wanted for the murder of both Bourquet, and Piangi." Erik smirked, remembering the last year. "You will behave, or be discovered", she said softly. Erik nodded, and Madame Giry and Meg headed toward the door. "Goodbye, monsieur" Erik heard her voice echo, as the patter of footsteps subsided.


	4. Seals Broken: Raoul

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter IV: _**Seals Broken **__Raoul's Point of View_

My thoughts stopped as I heard Christine's shudder. Glancing away from the threshold, the place where the letter, that was now in Christine's frozen hand, had laid. Gently, I placed my hand on her trembling one, unclasping her immobile fingers. "Raoul", she whispered, as I stared at the red skull seal, on the letter in my hand. I knew I had to open it, but I dreaded I knew what was going to come.

I gently broke the seal and removed the small piece of parchment inside. There, was that all too familiar handwriting, all too familiar words. I looked at the letter, and put my arm around Christine, who had begun to shiver. _Mlle Daae, and Monsieur deChagny; My sincerest well wishes and Greetings; As you may know, auditions have resumed at the populaire. My ingénue will be there, of course. And for les vicomte; I shall see you in Box Five, once again. I remain, your obedient servant, OG. _I glanced at Christine, her eyes clouded. I pulled her close, my eyes locked on the door, so she wouldn't see the tears clouding my own.

"Raoul," she whispered, "Can I return to the opera house?", but truthfully I wasn't sure. "Spectre D'opéra, Mon Ange,Chanter, Chanter, Chanter", she stammered. It alarmed me, wondering if she had suddenly become delirious. I wasn't far from wrong, because it seemed as soon as I said this, her long eyelashes began to flutter. My heart was pounding, and my simmering blood, was back to it's previous state in the carriage, boiling again. "The Phantom of the Opera. Spectre D'opéra". I repeated, only my words were more angry than confused. Glancing toward the trembling person in my arms I started upstairs. After I was sure Christine was safe, I started to move toward the door. But seeing the letter I had lain on the bedside table, near now sleeping Christine, I took it, and then began pacing the confines of her room. I sighed. Would that man ever stop? And if he did, what would it take to make him cease his horror. These thoughts still with me, I left for the study, the letter still in hand. What would Erik do? I sighed. If only the Phantom was predictable.

_**FRENCH TRANSLATIONS:**_

_** Opera Ghost**_

_**My Angel!**_

_**Sing, Sing Sing. **_


	5. Worst Fears: Christine

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter V: _**Worst Fears**__ Christine's Point of View _

I don't remember much after I heard those words. I remain your obedient servant, OG. OG. Mon Ange. Or so I had thought he was. In an all too familiar aura of confusion, I glanced around. The Phantom, his lair. The mist upon that murky green water, and the flicker of candles all filled my head with a hazy fog. I massaged my temples, trying to discourage the headache that was beginning. I thought I heard movement below me thinking somewhat reluctantly that I should see what it was, and still thinking of the last thing I saw. Raoul. His beautiful blue-grey eyes, welling up with worry, probably for the worry he saw in mine. But what became of me after? I suddenly sprang up, just realizing where I was, feeling the soft covers beneath me. A sudden relief filled every vein in my body. I was in the deChagny summer home. And that fateful room, that I must have conjured in a dream, had burned. My home, and seemingly my life, was all ashes.

Suddenly, the very face I was thinking of, appeared. "Raoul", I heard myself saying. "Lotte". He said, gently", making me smile, and turning my memories of nightmares to warm summer days, singing with the familiar tune of a faithful violin, and a mischievous, squirming boy chasing me into the waves. But with a sudden jolt, I glanced down toward his hand, baring an unwanted parchment. Raoul, I said suddenly, "Er-- the Phantom. Will I ever return to the opera? I stared in to his eyes, becoming as somber as mine. What has become of my home? You must tell me. My life is music. And my opera has burned. What happened after we left? Raoul, who had begun pacing the room upon my last statement, sighed Christine, my love ar-- he stopped. "I-- Raoul, I need to know," I said finally, breaking the silence. He sighed and licked his lips, as if trying to find the words to explain. I managed a weak smile. He was always good at finding the right words to say. But as I looked up at his worried face, my somber face returned. I braced myself for what I somehow knew he was going to say.

"The populaire was completely burned that night", he finally said. "As far as what had become of The Phantom, no one was sure." He stopped. "Until tonight". I shuddered at those words. Tonight I had faced my worst fears. Erik-- as much as I wanted to believe he was safe-- The Phantom of the Opera had returned. But what as for me? What would it take to never pass in to that darkness? How far would he go, Past the Point of No Return, again? But no one could be sure of what was going to happen next. Not anyone could predict Erik's schemes. Not even Raoul. Not even my hero.


	6. A Single Shard: Narrator

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter V: _**A Single Shard: **__Narrator: Erik's Point of View _

Erik smirked. Paying a visit to the deChangy home, he had discovered that they had once again returned to Paris. Depositing his trademark on the doorstep, he sighed, and returned to the depths of darkness that he called home. Auditions would be starting soon, and he had one last task to complete. He must complete his music. The Music of the Night. And his ingénue, his Christine, was the final piece.

Deliveries complete, he sighed. A familiar pain seeped in to his soul. Pity, self-loathing, and rejection, seemed to collide. Collecting behind his mask. But soon, he and Christine would make his life complete. For music was his life. And her beautiful spirit, had a song that soared.

Sitting down, near the piano, fingered the box. The monkey, dressed in beautiful Persian robes, playing that sweet melody. _Masquerade, Paper faces on parade, Masquerade. Hide your face so the world will never find you. _Erik fingered the memories inside. A fading red rose, and a sketch of her. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And her ring, tarnished now, but the diamond stone still sparkled in the candle light. He sighed, placing it back into the box. But the last object, Erik lingered on for a long time. It was a single shard. The one memory that he had of that night. Destroying everything he knew. The raging fire above him, the broken remains of mirrors in front of him. But it was over now; Erik knew, but didn't want to believe it. Remembering Christine's soft voice, the only thing that told him the truth. She did not think him a monster, nor was disgusted with him. But she did tell him the one thing that he couldn't bear to hear._ This haunted face, holds no horror for me now. It's in your soul that the true distortion lies. _But that didn't stop Erik from carrying out his plan. And it didn't stop Christine's honest, penetrating words, either. _Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone. _And then, he felt the cool touch of her hand against his face, flushed with a passionate rage and a chronic self pity.

But the touch of her lips was too much for him. The first sense of feeling he'd ever felt. It made his heart skip a beat. But then he saw a different look in her eyes. A desperate pleading, something that made his rapidly beating heart slow. Something he would ponder over forever. He let them go. But why? That was his chance-- the chance to make his music. His heavy breathing seemed agony. And glancing down at the treasure in his hand, a single tear flowed from his eye, on to the foggy glass.

Brushing away the tears, he went to the organ. The soothing melody of Music of the Night filled his fingertips, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips once more. But as the song went on, his sadness only increased. So pounding out the chords of Point of No Return. He was satisfied. The haunting memories gone, he smirked again. It was time to create a plan. The Phantom of the Opera, OG, had returned.


	7. Distant Bells and Distorted Secrets: R

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter VII: **Distant Bells and Distorted Secrets **_Raoul's Point of View _

Christine smiled. I sighed, feeling somewhat relieved. Full of joy, and expectations. I knew she was feeling the same way; I could see it in her eyes. But as the afternoon wore on, I yawned. Taking another sip of brandy, I sighed. Discussing colors, and fabrics, and location, and guest lists... Finally when the subject of Christine's dress seemed unending, I couldn't hold my patience for something I was horridly trying to be interested in. _This is worse than talking politics with noblemen,_ I thought to myself. "Isn't it a tradition for the groom _not _to see the bride in her dress before the wedding?" I asked compulsively, just before I felt a smarting slap hit my shoulder. "Raoul," Christine giggled, "Don't you want to be a part of this wonderful event?" "Quite frankly, No," I said, surprising myself.

But before Christine could open her mouth in protest, there was a knock at the door. It was Mme. Giry, and Meg. Christine greeted them both with warm hugs and a big smile. I couldn't help a grin from splitting my own features, as they sat down with tea, and began their girlish chatter about the wedding. I sighed to myself. I had never been so happy to see that girl in my life. But I contradicted that thought; well, maybe I had been _just _a bit happier one other time. So quietly attempting to excuse myself, before I was asked to join their excited prattle.

But just as I was about to sequester myself om the study, I felt a touch against my arm. "Come with me, Monsieur," that rigid French accent said, "There is something you need to know. Something about Erik." I gulped. There was and always has been such a mysterious aura surrounding Mme. Giry. Something that told me that she knew something I didn't. But was I going to find out?

So I led her in to the study, where after sitting down, I received a cold, rigid stare that sent whatever remains of the smile I had away, along with any of the warmth from her eyes. "Monsieur," she said, "He has been up to something." "But Mme. Giry," I heard myself saying," How far will he go?" "His plans I do not know. " she replied. "But as you have seen, he will stop at nothing. You are not the only one, Monsieur, Myself and the others at the populaire have also received his warnings. He is planning something. "But what, Mme.? What?" "From the still icy state in her eyes, I received no comfort, nor reply. "Be careful," was all she said. I moved my hand toward eye level, and attempted to smile a little. But my smile was only returned with a brief nod, and a small piece of parchment. It's wax seal broken, but I could still make out the shapes in the dim candlelight. The shape of a skull. I gently lifted the seal, and pulled out the ominous writings within.

But knowing how Christine would react, I didn't want to ruin the amazing prospect at the wedding, I brushed those thoughts away, after reading. Instead, I left the study and Mme. Giry, silently humming to myself. _Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. _I was so distracted in my thoughts, that I ran in to a breathless, laughing Christine. "It's true, my love," she said. "Soon we will." So with those thoughts in mind, I left for bed. Thinking of those brown eyes, sparking with laughter, and seeing them forever.


	8. Rêverie de Musique: Christine

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter VIII: _** Rêverie de Musique **__Christine's Point of View _

I giggled. I didn't know why I was so restless, in the parlor, at home. Sighing to myself, I decided to go to the study. I turned the brass knob at the door. Browsing the mahogany bookshelves, I reluctantly chose a thin volume of poetry. I thumbed through the pages. Trying to make my inattentive eyes read the words, I rubbed my them in a gesture of boredom, laid back my head, and more than willingly loosened the elegant, ladylike twist at the back of my neck, so that my curls flowed in a rather snarled mass around my shoulders, but did alleviate the premonitory hints of a headache. I tried to go back to the romantic works of literature, but the fluffy, nostalgic rhymes just provoked another sigh. In a defeated, sulky gesture, I tossed the book on to a nearby settee.

"We're in a rather intellectual mood, aren't we?" A smooth, familiar voice said, following an ungentlemanly snort and a light laugh.

I shrieked. "Raoul!" He shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows in a gesture of mock innocence. I cocked my head and my own eyebrows arched. Picking up the book, I flung it toward his chest. Grinning with a devious smirk, he picked up a much thicker volume. I squealed again, and kicked off my shoes on to the footstool underneath my feet. Picking up my skirts, I ran.

I wasn't exactly sure where I was going. But I hadn't had this much fun in what felt like forever. So I ran wherever my flying bare feet would take me. I suddenly found myself sliding on the varnished floors of the music room. Catching my breath, I sat down at the piano, and fingered the cool ivory keys. I placed my fingers on the keys, and began the solfedge scale with a delightful ease. I couldn't help myself. My voice seemed to be floating, willing to go wherever I dared. So, I sang; singing until I was breathless again.

I suddenly sensed the feeling of being watched. With a shudder, I turned sharply. "Raoul."

"I'm sorry Lotte, did I startle you?"

"...Well, yes, Raoul, darling, you did. But that's quite alright," I hastily added. "I was just in a bit of a daze," I whispered.

"Well, for being in a daze, you sounded quite amazing, I must say," Raoul said gently. "Which brings us to one question, love."

I prepared myself for the query that I knew was coming. I just hadn't wanted to go back to the place where the gift of my voice had emerged. But for such a gift as that voice, I had paid the arduous price. For what was I willing to requite to be able to experience the miracle of the theatre? Raoul pursed his lips and swallowed; as if he couldn't bear to ask. But he finally began to speak. "Christine." He was acutely somber, and I suddenly felt like a child, about to be punished-- nervous, and unsure. "Are you," he paused. "ready to sing again?" I swallowed the nagging lump in my throat. "Yes." I managed to answer the one question that was the most painful elucidation that had come from my mouth.

He simply nodded. "Auditions for Monsieur du Bourg begin next week. I nodded my head. He smiled. "Would the finest Prima Donna in all of France allow allow a _quite_ handsome vicomte to accompany her to her audition for her second season at the Populaire? I beamed at him. My hero. "Oh, monsieur," I said sweetly, "I believe the Opera's biggest patron has already offered his company that day. So, I am quite sorry, that I cannot accept your gracious invitation, as handsome a vicomte you are," I added giggling. Raoul reached over the piano, and produced the same volume of earlier. It almost seemed thicker. I laughed again. Raoul. For a second, all of my fears had vanished. He would always be there, to hold me, and to hide me. I knew, though Erik's promise of being my angel, mon ange, had disappeared in to darkness. Raoul's very promise, the one thing I asked, would last forever. Perhaps even longer than that.


	9. Visions of the Past Mme Giry

**After the Ashes: The Phantom of the Opera After a Year**

Chapter IX: **Visions of the Past, Forewarnings of the Future**_ Madame Giry's Point of View_

I almost felt myself laughing thinking of my recent visit to the de Chagny home. It was wonderful to see Christine and the vicomte so happy again. It reminded me of my first love Sébastien Desmarias. I sighed; back then I was young, and restless. As a bright-eyed, innocent, ballerina, I had gotten quite a bit of male attention. And as a foolish girl, living all alone at the opera, I had taken every risk, and given them all they had wanted. But a young, brash gentleman's choice had left me with the wearisome life I now live. But as Meg's bright eyes met my own, my smile returned. I loved her with all of my heart; I would do anything for her. If only my darling Meg could find the love life I once had. But as the carriage began to turn towards our small apartment at the newly finished Opera Populaire, my thoughts began to drift. I needed to speak to Erik. I was quite troubled over his return. What was this man going to do? Was he going to do anything? After all, he had more to think about than just a sweet soprano and a young love. I knew, and assumed Erik had too surmised, that Christine and Raoul were soon to be wed, and with that, came the romantic bliss a young couple acquires-- starting a family, and other such wonderful things that even I in my old age, still longed for. But Erik, I knew desired more than that. I shuddered with the fact that he would do anything to get what he wished for. He would kill for it.

I felt myself almost trembling as I walked down the cold, dark, dank hallways in the labyrinth that Erik called home. As intimidating as his quarters seemed, I forced myself to make eye contact with those hard eyes. Looking deep in to them, though, you could see something else: A Longing. A Longing for love. But there was a vulnerability about him, in his manner, and the way he spoke, saying, "Good, Evening, Madame. Why are you here, visiting me at such an hour?" I smiled and attempted to continue in his easy, light conversation for as long as I could, for I feared that it would soon change to my worst fears. I was out, Monsieur. Thank you, dear, for asking. I tried to be polite, yet keep the conversation from going to a state of painful silences and dread. "With Meg, I assume? Where would you be staying as late as it is now?" he asked. I attempted to answer, but all that left my mouth was a slight cough. "I..." I felt myself faltering. I glanced toward Erik, nervously, but thankfully he didn't press. "I was at the de Chagny's. Meg and Christine were..." I found my voice once again. "preparing for the wedding." Erik's features changed within a second. My eyes drifted out on to the lake. Erik uttered a deep, low growl.

"Erik, please." I tried to plead with him. "Don't do any harm to anyone."

His gaze gave me no answer.

So, in a desperate tone, I tried to change the subject.

"I hear that Monsieur du Bourg has studied music for quite a time."

Erik smirked. "If he had studied music, the second he heard la Carlotta rehearsing, he would have fired her." And people are afraid of "_The Phantom". _ He said in an insulted tone. I daresay, Carlotta has more people terrified of her, than the _Opera Ghost_. "

I held back a chuckle.

But I tried one last time to plead for the safety of those I loved. Though I loved Erik, too, he couldn't do this. I wouldn't let any harm come to Meg. My mind wandered along with my feet as I tried to make my way out of the genius maze he had crafted. My thoughts drifted to the past, saving him from the gypsies. Yes that I hadn't regretted. But then, I became pregnant. My dancing career over, I had decided to leave at the conclusion of the season. But Erik was there, and he knew. I remember the warning he had told me the day I had started to show that I was with child. His sultry voice echoing in my ears. Be careful, Mam'selle. Be careful. You are the only keeper of my secret. If you value your life... he eyed my middle conspicuously... you will heed this warning. I had nodded, and assured him that his secret was safe. Then, I fled away from the opera house, and vowed not to return for a long time.

But again, when my Meg was born, the warning was the same. Keep my secret safe unless you want harm to come to this child. I once again pledged my loyalty. But the day Meg arrived, I had stayed home until she was eight. She had adored dancing. She'd danced before she walked. Perfecting a pirouette by six. But on her eighth birthday, I had decided to return to the opera. Monsieur Reyer had remembered me from when he was young, and had asked me if I still danced. I answered him, yes. So, henceforth I had began my life of living in the opera, and instructing young, giggling ballerinas, copies of what I had remembered most of my childhood, how to dance.

And I continued to provide Erik with my assistances, out of fear, more than anything. But gradually the pity and intimidation I felt around him, turned to compassion. And perhaps genuine love.

But remembering his past, remembering his cautions, I said a silent prayer, to the dark, starry sky, praying for Erik, and those in the Opera. Christine and Raoul. But My Meg most of all.

**A/N**: This is a long chapter, compared to what I normally write. Yes. But it's Mme. Giry's first, and possibly only chapter. Let me know if you like this one, or if you want any more "minor characters." (Meg, Mssr. duBourg, Carlotta, etc.)


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